Page 16 of Magical Mayhem (Stonewick Magical Midlife Witch Academy #7)

The path to the cottage curled off the lane like a ribbon someone had dropped in a hurry, and just seeing it made me relax.

It was hard to believe how much had happened since I first set foot here so many months ago.

I remember how na?ve I was in thinking all I had to do was tend to the gardens, fix up the cottage here and there, and work at the tea shop.

But I wouldn’t trade anything for the world I had now. I had purpose, a new love just beginning, hope, and more fight in me than I knew what to do with.

Evening sank easily onto Stonewick, and as I rounded the hawthorn, I spotted the welcoming porch restored as if it hadn’t been used for a battlefield more times than I’d like to admit.

The chimney leaned a fraction to the left as if it had been listening hard for years and forgot to stand upright again. A row of herb boxes sat under the windows, filled with chamomile, sage, and a cheeky clump of lemon balm that enjoyed dying on me more than not.

I was halfway up the path when a dark shape peeled off the roof and dropped toward me.

Karvey landed on the rail with the dignity of someone who’d practiced in mirrors.

He cocked his stone head, obsidian eyes taking me apart and putting me back together again.

The gargoyle could piece together things about me before I even uttered a hello.

“Are you ill?” he blurted, voice brisk with worry. “You don’t look so good.”

“Hello to you too,” I managed, reaching up to rub his head. The world wobbled a little as I steadied my breath. “I’ve had better days. Keegan… isn’t doing so well back at the Academy.”

Karvey’s head tilted the other way.

“Yes,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. “I thought as much. There’s a weight in the stones when he falters.” His wings shivered, a small, contained tremor. “Your father is inside.”

I froze. “Inside? Here? He was just at the Academy.”

“Well, he’s here.” He nodded. “With an unexpected guest, I might add.”

My heart did a small, unhelpful dance mixed with half dread and half curiosity.

At least the visitor couldn’t be Gideon since he was at the inn.

I looked up at my small haven. The cottage had always been my stabilizer, with its warm walls, a kettle that never judged me, and Miora, who always managed to stitch it back together again.

My father, accompanied by an unexpected guest, was unusual, and it probably meant that I should have turned around and walked back to town.

Instead, I swallowed the wobble in my knees and pushed forward. The steps squeaked as they always did, and Karvey hopped from the post to my porch with the authority of an old friend who had appointed himself watchdog years ago and never relinquished the post.

“I told myself I was coming here to stay out of the Academy’s bustle for an hour. Freshen up. Breathe. Maybe even feel like myself again for a minute.”

Karvey made a face only a statue could make, which is to say it looked like both a grimace and a thin smile. “I don’t think that’s likely to happen.”

“Encouraging,” I muttered.

He was right. The night had that feeling where every promise unraveled to show you the knot underneath.

I sighed and opened the door slightly as the cottage murmured to me through the wood, and the familiar hush of books greeted me first.

The faint scent of oil and cedar mingled with the sweetness from the teapot.

Karvey’s wing brushed my shin.

“Remember,” he murmured, “everyone always has a part to play, whoever it is.”

“Cryptic as usual,” I said, and pushed the door the rest of the way.

Before that moment, though, I made myself notice the small things around me, because inside could be trouble. Inside often was trouble, or at the very least, turmoil or surprises.

But the trusty gargoyle next to me was my balance. I nudged the door the rest of the way.

The cottage greeted me with its gentle clutter, featuring shelves of mismatched trinkets and charms, and a basket of wool with a half-finished project that had begun as a scarf but had evolved into a blanket.

The rug in the sitting room had a new wrinkle in it, and Karvey apparently hated that and hopped down to pat it flat with solemn efficiency, as if nothing else in the world could be right while the rug wore a frown.

“Heroic,” I told him.

“Obviously,” he said.

I should have called out.

I didn’t.

My voice felt trapped with the memory of Keegan’s damp brow and the weight of Gideon’s arm across my shoulders and the way Lady Limora knew not to press for details.

But I didn’t dare look up.

Low voices. My father’s timbre threaded through me. His sound always brought great comfort. Of course, I missed the snorts and snores that always had accompanied his old form, but this version was just as needed.

Especially now, because the other voice under his was the last person I expected to hear.

Karvey sidled next to me and tucked himself like a velvet collar at my foot.

“Do you need me to caw at anyone?” he whispered, toneless in the way that meant he hoped the answer was yes.

“Not yet,” I said. “But thank you for the offer.”

He clicked his mouth, faintly pleased.

From the dining area, a chair scraped inner floorboards—polite, controlled. My father said something in that mild voice he used when he’s less calm than he wanted to be. The other voice answered with a short question, followed by the soft shut of a book being set carefully on a table.

A book.

So they’d been waiting at the dining table. Or reading to avoid waiting. Either way, it meant my cottage hadn’t been fighting with the new company.

Yet.

I caught sight of myself reflected in the round mirror with thyme drying over the arch.

My hair escaped its pins and curled where the Wilds kissed it. My cheeks were too pale, and a smear of moss at my collar where Gideon’s weight had pressed highlighted the evening’s activities. But I was doing all this to avoid who I’d heard in the cottage.

My haven.

Karvey watched my reflection watching myself.

“You look like a witch who’s already told the truth three times today,” he said. “And will have to tell it again.”

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“I know.”

Karvey nudged my ear. “If your father has come to tell you not to do a thing,” he murmured, “the thing probably needs doing.”

“Don’t tempt me to agree with you.”

“Never my intent,” he said dryly.

Karvey chuckled—a dark, pleased ripple—and stayed where he was, warm as a promise at my neck.

But my focus slid to the other figure across the room—my mother.

My witch mother. Even now, the thought felt like a pebble rattling around my skull. My mother, who had spent my complete childhood hiding an entire part of herself, of me, like it was nothing more than an embarrassing mole to be concealed under layers of foundation.

I drew a deep breath, bracing myself. “What brought you back to Stonewick? Did you tire of cruise ships?” My voice shook only a little, though I steadied my gaze on her, refusing to flinch.

I walked into the kitchen, which was only a few steps away, and filled the kettle.

I found the tin of Stella’s focus blend on the shelf and hesitated, then pulled out the Moonlit Comfort instead.

The first thing you should offer the unexpected is comfort, and the second is a clean cup.

I lined up four, because I was done pretending I didn’t count myself among the guests when trouble sat down in my house.

The kettle began to sing in a small voice. I took it off before it could get loud, because loud felt like a lie tonight.

Quiet truths. That was all I could hold at the moment.

I set the cups on the tray and let out a deep breath.

“All right,” I told myself. “Let’s see which storm decided to thunder in tonight.”

I took one step, then another, from the small safety of the kitchen into the even smaller bravery of the sitting room, and lifted my eyes to meet the woman who had come to change the shape of my night.

Steam curled up from my dad’s teacup, the sweet scent threading through the air.

He muttered his thanks, fingers wrapping around the porcelain with a reverence that made me realize just how long it had been since I’d seen him do something as human and ordinary as drink tea rather than his old life of snuffling kibble.

My mom’s lips curved as if she’d expected the jab, maybe even welcomed it. She accepted the teacup I offered with surprising grace, her fingers steady and poised. She took a slow sip, then let out a sigh that was half weariness, half relief.

“Your stepdad has lost his marbles,” she said finally, the words delivered with the same brisk tone she used when returning a blouse at a department store. “And I don’t have the energy to chase them any longer while they roll around… on or off a ship.”

Again, it was as if time slowed and the same problems arose in her life.

A chuckle slipped from me despite the knot in my chest. “Is that code for something? He didn’t fall off a ship, did he?”

Her playful scowl was so familiar it was almost comforting.

“Heavens no.” But her lips pressed together, thin and pursed, and I knew, absolutely knew, she wasn’t giving me the whole story.

I leaned back, crossing my arms, unwilling to let her off easy. “So you left him mid-buffet line, or did you at least wait until after karaoke night?”

“Don’t be dramatic, Maeve,” she chided, though her eyes sparkled with a hint of pride. “It wasn’t mid-buffet. It was just after we docked.”

Dad snorted into his tea, muffling his laughter.

For a split second, it felt absurdly like I was five years old again, both of them volleying dry commentary across the dinner table.

Except back then, my mother wasn’t a witch in my mind.

Back then, she was just the woman who signed field-trip permission slips with a ballpoint pen and knew how to fold fitted sheets without breaking a sweat.

Now, here she sat sipping tea like a woman who could set the curtains aflame if she sneezed too hard.

The truth pressed at me, sharp and unrelenting.

“You hid being a witch from me my whole life,” I whispered. “An entire side of who I am. Do you even know what it’s been like to stumble into Stonewick, into all of this, with no clue? To find out everyone knew but me?”

Her shoulders sagged, and for once she looked less like the sharp-eyed woman who could cut down anyone with a glare and more like someone carrying a secret too heavy for too long.

“I thought I was protecting you,” she said softly. “From this world. From the pull it would have on you. From expectations that I didn’t believe you should have to carry.”

I laughed, though it came out in a jagged tone. “And how’d that work out for us? Because I’m pretty sure I’m carrying them now anyway.”

She winced but didn’t argue.

Dad set his cup down with a clink.

“She should’ve told you, Maeve. We both know that now, but there was more to it and...” His voice was quiet but firm, and then he stopped.

The two of them in the same room…that alone felt surreal. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d seen it. Their energies had always seemed to cancel each other out, oil and water pretending to share a glass. Yet here they were, sharing tea like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Why now?” I finally asked the question in a low, heavy tone. “Why come back again? Because your husband misplaced his marbles? Or because something bigger is pulling you back?”

Her gaze flicked to Dad, then back to me.

“Both,” my mom admitted, her voice softer than I expected. “I couldn’t stay away any longer. Stonewick is stirring, Maeve. And whether I wanted to admit it or not, you were always going to be at the heart of it. When I was here last, leaving was extremely difficult.”

“Interesting,” I muttered, though a part of me warmed at the idea that maybe the Academy was calling and she was here for me, not just because she’d grown tired of chasing a man with a cruising problem and a tendency to drink too many pina coladas.

She tilted her head, studying me with eyes that, for the first time in my life, looked almost vulnerable.

“Do you think you can forgive me for keeping so much from you?”

I thought of my daughter and smiled, knowing I was starting to do the same exact thing to Celeste. I wanted to protect her by keeping this from her. The only difference was that Celeste had found out before I’d planned, thanks to a fake boyfriend.

I thought of Keegan, of the shadows eating at him inch by inch.

Of Gideon, slipping like smoke through every crack we tried to seal.

Of the dragons I’d sworn to protect.

And the Wards straining under the weight of too much hope and not enough time.

Forgiveness felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford.

So when I looked at her, at my mother who had hidden so much and yet returned now, I wondered if forgiveness wasn’t exactly the kind of magic we both needed.

I didn’t answer right away.

Instead, I stood, carrying my empty cup to the sink. The kettle still steamed faintly, ready for another round. I busied my hands, buying myself time.

Behind me, I heard her sigh.

“You’ve created something here,” she said.

“Something I never could. I always thought your Grandma Elira was the strong one, the one destined to shape Stonewick. I left because I couldn’t bear the comparison.

Because I needed to protect you. And now I see you stepping into that role with more grace than I ever had. ”

The words stunned me, more than I wanted to admit.

Dad cleared his throat. “She’s not Elira. She’s Maeve. And that’s more than enough.”

I turned back to them as my throat tightened, and for the first time in years, I saw not just my parents, separate and flawed, but something almost like a family again. Imperfect, fractured, but maybe still capable of mending.

And the parallels between Shadowick and Stonewick were uncanny.